


Forever Is the Sweetest Con

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Con Artists, M/M, Smut, low calorie angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28734783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Jack is the ideal target...until he isn't.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Forever Is the Sweetest Con

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cowboy Like Me by Taylor Swift.

Brock scoped him out from across the hotel bar. He was impeccably dressed, an Oliver Wicks suit carefully tailored over his broad shoulders and burly chest. Brock had gotten good at spotting designer suits that belonged to those with money and the knock offs that belonged to those who wanted to appear like they did. His dark hair was slicked back and there was a leather bound suitcase resting against the legs of the bar chair. He had his laptop open, a waterfall graph on its screen that he was studying with a rocks glass in one hand. It was held elegantly, with the poise of a man well versed in proper etiquette. He was a prime target and like a big cat Brock prowled to the bar. He didn’t interact immediately -- he never did. He let his prey come to him, they were always powerless not to. Brock put a chair between them, a polite distance but close enough that when he did eventually get drawn in by Brock’s aura he wouldn’t have to raise his voice. 

The bartender was used to him and well aware of the game he played. If she disapproved she never made a fuss about it and never warned his targets of his alternative motives. She poured him a watermelon vodka and went back to drying glasses. Traffic was low as it usually was on a Tuesday afternoon which made it an ideal hunting time for Brock. No distractions, no excess noise, just Brock and his target. He sipped his drink and let his shoulders drop, a small breathy sigh exited him to alert the man of his presence. In the corner of his eye he saw him look away from his screen. At first it was just a glance, a flicker of green eyes that returned to the laptop screen. But as what he had seen registered those eyes had seen he looked again, this time with some secrecy that Brock’s keen eyesight recognized immediately. He preened a bit, stretching out the lines of his body, shifting his muscles to show off his physique. Brock knew he was appealing; men either wanted to be him or be with him and he could tell from the gaze that Jack wanted the former. 

Brock brought the glass to his lips, tipping it back to let the sweet drink grace his taste buds before he lowered it gracefully, setting it on the bar with a gentle click. 

“Glad to see I’m not the only one drinking at noon,” the man said and Brock turned with a toothy, predatory smile. 

“Sometimes you need a drink at noon. I’m Brock.” He offered his hand and Jack closed his laptop and took it. 

“Jack.” 

“Pleasure to meet you Jack.” 

“You as well -- can I ask what you’re drinking?” 

“Watermelon vodka.” 

From there it played out as it always did. Brock shifted over a seat, shifting closer the more drinks they have. Brock had built up a remarkable tolerance to alcohol, something Jack, CFO of Starling & Gretchon LP, did not have. He wasn’t a sloppy drunk, he carried over his poise and sophistication and Brock had to applaud that. He’d seen plenty of men fall apart to their baseless, moraless selves, shamelessly groping and touching Brock. Jack was polite allowing their knees to touch as their only form of intimacy. Brock had to appreciate that. It was after their sixth drink that Brock suggested continuing their conversation about how he was planning to correct a cash flow weakness from a nonprofit they had tried to run. Honestly Brock couldn’t have cared less but it was easy to see that Jack was passionate and earnest about what he did. He wasn’t the slimy type he was used to; money hadn’t ruined him the way it did most men. He shared that this was his last night at the hotel and that he had an early flight back to Kentucky in the morning which made him an even better target. 

He had loosened his tie between his third and fourth bourbon and now it hung like a silken noose. His chiseled cheekbones were flushed pink with intoxication and he had an interesting scar on his chin that begged for Brock to ask about. Brock tried to keep it as impersonal as possible; work was easy to talk about because Brock never cared about stockbrokers or hedge fund managers. Making things personal risked feelings getting mixed into the mess and that was the very last thing he needed. 

This was work after all. 

They finished their drinks and Jack put his laptop into his briefcase before slipping off the bench, just a bit unsteady, and the two of them crossed the lobby to the elevator. Jack hit the button but when the elevator doors slid open he stepped aside and gestured for him to enter first. Truly the pinnacle of a gentleman. Brock tried hard to ignore that as he smiled and stepped in. Elevator music tinkled through speakers and Brock cut the space between them, bumping the backs of their hands together. Jack hooked their pinkies together, the first truly intimate action between them. A teaser to what awaited them once they reached the hotel room. 

He was on the higher floors where the suites were located and Brock’s choice had, as per usual, paid off. Jack swiped his key card and let himself into the room. They were met with cool air conditioned air, the walls painted ivory with crown molding trim running along the ceiling. The short hall they stood in opened up to a living room area were a large TV was mounted to the wall, beige furniture set up, big leafy plants in the corner, the green of them popping in the subtle colors around it. It was neat and tidy, a suit jacket draped over the back of the couch. He could see a sliver of the bedroom from where he was -- Brock’s destination. Jack shut the door and when he turned around Brock struck like a coiled rattlesnake. 

He put his hands against Jack’s chest, pushing him against the door, pressing their lips together. There was a moment of hesitation from Jack where he didn’t kiss Brock back, but it passed quickly, the taller man wrapping his arms around him. He hugged him close to his body, pressing him close as a hand came up to cup the back of his neck. The kiss tasted like watermelon and bourbon, heated and just a bit drunken. Jack was sobering but riding the high of the pheromones between them. Jack backed Brock up until his back bumped against the wall and Brock groaned against his lips. 

Jack pulled back and the two of them breathed raggedly for a moment, getting their bearings. “Want to move this to the bedroom?” Brock suggested in a sultry tone. 

“Yes,” Jack said immediately.

Everything was going exactly as it usually did, the rhythm that Brock knew like the back of his hand playing out. Jack held his hand as he led him into the bedroom. A massive California king sat front and center in the room, inviting them. It was an invitation that was eagerly accepted once they’d peeled off their clothing. Beneath Jack’s finely tailored suit was perfect skin, unmarred and unmarked, thin hair on his chest and beneath his belly button that trailed down his pubic bone to a trimmed nest of pubic hair. His cock hung heavy and impressive, even flaccid, thick and plump. Before Brock’s eyes it began to swell and grow, making Brock’s mouth water. It had been a long time since he’d had a target with a cock like Jack’s. 

Jack pulled him against him, capturing his lips once more. Brock wanted to melt into his embrace. He could enjoy this part, he always did. It was his reward for all his hard work at the bar, although, this time, it hadn’t felt like work. Still, he would enjoy it. Who knew how long it would be until he’d find someone with a cock like Jack was sporting. They found their way onto the bed, Jack’s hand snaking down to grip Brock’s erection. Flicking his wrist in slow languid motions Brock purred, thrusting greedily for friction. Jack kissed the crook of his neck, peppering kisses along his collar bone and the hollow of his throat. It was different from the way he was typically kissed when he fucked his targets. They were hurried, eager to fuck him, but Jack seemed eager to please him before pleasing himself. Brock could appreciate that. 

Brock let himself drown in sensations, indulge in pleasure and put work on the back burner while he gave himself in completely to Jack’s touch. “I don’t have any lube,” Jack said, voice apologetic. 

“I have some.” 

Brock slipped off the bed and grabbed a few travel packets of K-Y and a condom he hoped would fit Jack’s cock. If Jack found it odd that he had come prepared the haze of lust rendered it moot. He rolled on the condom and Brock got into the doggy position, the best position for Jack to stimulate his prostate, and he felt the cold jelly against his hole. Jack rolled the pad of his thumb against his pucker, easing the muscle a bit before he slipped in a digit slowly working him open. It was done with care that Brock had yet to experience and his chest twinged in a strange way. By the time Jack lined up Brock was suddenly feeling uncertain. 

It was a new feeling, one that he didn’t know what to make of. The spongy head of Jack’s cock pressed against his relaxed entrance slowly working its way inside of him. Brock dropped down to elbows, ass in the air and dropped his head down. He could see his cock hanging between his thighs. 

Was he really double thinking what he was doing? No, that was crazy. Jack was a target just like the rest. Just because he was good at fucking him didn’t make him any different from the rest. Just because he was a polite drunk didn’t mean he was any better than the others. Jack was a target, just like the rest. 

Jack gripped his cock and stroked him off while he thrust, rubbing that hot spot inside him that had his seeing stars. When he came in all consuming, his body feeling wrung out. Jack chased his orgasm with his own and once he came he laid Brock down with the tenderness one would use with a lover they’d had for years, not a complete stranger. Brock laid back on the pillows watching Jack peel off the condom, knotting it and tossing it to the floor. Jack laid beside him pulling him into his arms, holding him like they had shared intimacy before. It was just as comforting as it was disturbing and Brock was once more conflicted. 

“That was amazing,” Jack breathed. His eyes were heavy. Orgasms and alcohol guaranteed a deep sleep for those who hadn’t trained against it. “Thank you, Brock. I look forward to getting to know you better.” 

No one had ever thanked Brock before much less continuing a relationship.

“Yeah it was,” Brock swallowed down a lump of uncertainty. 

It didn’t take long for Jack to drift off, breathing deep and even. It was easy to untangle himself, Jack didn’t so much as twitch, and Brock dressed quickly and quietly. He knelt down picking up Jack’s suit pants. He slipped out his wallet, a leather bi-fold, and opened it. He never touched cards, those were traceable. Cash was easily a he-said-she-said (or rather, he-said-he-said) dispute that the rich never bothered with. There was about twelve hundred dollars in big bills and Brock slipped it out, replacing the wallet. He was at the door when the words hit him again. 

'I look forward to getting to know you better'. 

Fuck. Brock couldn’t do it. He tiptoed back to bedroom and knelt down, replacing the money. He crawled back into the bed and into Jack's arms. 

It was his first failed con but he was curious to see where it would take him.


End file.
